


Moonage Daydream

by vtn



Category: David Bowie (Musician), Glam Rock RPF, Music RPF, Placebo
Genre: Androgyny, Cock Worship, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-04
Updated: 2004-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When David Bowie receives Placebo's demos in the mail, he decides he has to meet the intriguing Brian Molko.  When Brian hears David is interested in his band, he's thrilled to finally meet one of his musical idols.  When that meeting occurs, sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

David rifled through the mail thoughtlessly. It had been a long time since he’d gotten something really interesting. Even his fan mail, which he generally enjoyed reading, was now directed to his record company first, where they sifted out most of it and sent it back with a lovely little card that said “David is too busy to reply to your mail…”

Suddenly something caught his eye. It was one of those yellow envelopes, and from the way it felt when he gently squeezed it, he could tell there was a small rectangular object wrapped in bubble wrap inside. As he turned it over to pull the metal tab open, he checked the return address.

“Elevator Music…” he read aloud, thoughtfully. _This must be someone’s demo tape or something._

He tipped the now open envelope over into his hand. A little tape fell out, with the word “PLACEBO” scrawled in black permanent marker on the label.

Stepping into his living room, David put the tape into his cassette player and sat down, resting his chin on his hand. He didn’t expect the next Beatles, but at this time, anything new would be a comfort. He pressed “play”.

A quick guitar came in, and soon it was joined by words spoken with a voice that almost reminded him of his own, but higher and more nasal.

“Let me tell you a story about this ambidextrous talk show host that I used to live with…” said the voice in its arrogant tone. David could almost picture some little London punk singing with his nose turned up; strumming his guitar and spitting the words into the microphone. It was interesting…but it wasn’t new. Music like this wasn’t really going to get the band anywhere further than dark basement shows played for about forty or fifty people.

He pressed eject and took out the cassette, turning it over to see the track listing. And one of the titles stood out, caught his eye. “Nancy Boy”, it said. _Well, that could either be a very insulting song, a very self-deprecating song or…_ Was it too much to hope for? Too much to hope that perhaps this was a song like those he’d written in a time that, somewhere in the private back of his mind, was really the most amazing and productive period of his life?

 _You’re just kidding yourself, David._ But nonetheless he put the tape back in, and fast-forwarded, counting the number of songs he skipped through until he was at “Nancy Boy”.

Raw chords thrashed out on a guitar with the distortion turned up so high that what chords they were was hard to tell, sometimes not pressed in hard enough on the strings so that a high pitched squeal came out instead of the notes. Then the same chord was aggressively strummed over and over, soon partnered with a bassline and drum beat. A very simple song, but, who knew—often it was these simple recipes that would catch on the best.

The nasal voice of the band’s singer brought in a tune this time: “Alcoholic kind of mood, lose my clothes, lose my lube. Cruising for a piece of fun, looking out for number one.”

David laughed out loud. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard anyone discuss their exploits so freely in a song since…well, since _that time_.

“Different partner every night. So narcotic, out of sight. What a gas—what a beautiful ass!”

“I think,” he said to no one in particular, “It’s time to make some calls and write some letters.”

The tape player replied, “And it all breaks down at the role reversal, got the muse in my head, she’s universal, spinning me round, she’s coming over me…”

And David _knew_ that he hadn’t been wrong about Placebo.

~

Stefan had been sitting on the couch minding his own business when suddenly a certain Brian Molko leapt into his lap, pushing him against the back of the couch and smothering his mouth with kiss after passionate kiss.

Panting, Brian drew back for just enough time for Stefan to get in a “Whoa, whoa,” but then started in again, draping his arms over Stefan’s shoulders. Stefan gave in—you’d have to be an idiot not to, he thought—and let Brian’s soft warm lips envelop his.

Pretty soon Brian’s hands were slipping up under Stefan’s shirt to caress his tense flesh, sliding up further to knead his shoulders, making Stefan groan with pleasure as he felt the skinny but strong fingers pressing into him over and over. And still their tongues worked against each other, their hot breaths mixing and tasting divine.

Finally Brian buried his head in Stefan’s chest, and let Stefan wrap his arms around him, both of them breathing softly in perfect synchronicity.

“What are you so excited about, nancy boy?” Stefan said softly and gently into Brian’s hair.

Brian lifted his head, smiling serenely. Then his eyes lit up and he jumped up off of the couch, dragging a startled Stefan with him and spinning himself around like a dancer on Stefan’s arm.

“Steffie, Steffie! Guess what we got in the maaaiil!” Brian said in a singsong voice.

“Porn?” Stefan asked, just to humor him.

“Better than porn!”

 _How is anything **better?**_ “Give me a hint.”

“It’s a letterrrrr…”

“From?”

Brian paused for a moment, giving Stefan that famous “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” look. Then he grinned and threw his arms around Stefan, squeezing him more tightly than Stefan thought possible.

“DAVID _BOWIE_ , Stefan! David Bowie sent _us_ a letter!” Before Stefan could respond, Brian pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and began to read.

“ ‘Dear Brian Molko,’—actually it says ‘Mol _o_ ko’, but we’ll ignore that, no? ‘Dear Brian Molko, I was told that I could contact you at this address. I have been sent your demo tape, and though at first I didn’t think it was anything special, I heard the song “Nancy Boy” and—I couldn’t help but listen to it over and over again.’ Oh Stefan, he loves it! He _loves_ it!”

He continued to read. “ ‘However, I was unable to get information as to when and where I might be able to see you perform.’ Stef, he wants to see us! And—and he said ‘perform’, and—that’s an innuendo! Stefaaannn, David Bowie wants me!”

“Brian, don’t read too much into this, for your own sake, please…”

“Oh honestly, Stef dear, let a fanboy have his moments. ‘I would love to get in contact with your band. Please write back or, even better, call me.’ Look, it’s his _number_! And, oh Stefan, he signed it, ‘Yours truly, David Bowie.’ This is like…a dream come true! Oh, I just can’t believe it! Oh Stefan, he wants us to call him!”

“Calm down, Brian! But…” Stefan allowed himself to be a little excited too. “Brian, let’s call the number, now!”

Brian scrambled over to the phone and punched in the numbers at lightning speed.

“Hello?!” he shouted into the receiver.

“Brian, you might want to try letting it ring first…”

Brian was silent, his expression growing more and more disappointed with, Stefan imagined, each ring on the other end. Then he slammed the phone back into the receiver, tossing his head back with fiery eyes.

“FUCK!” he shouted, and stomped down the hall to his room.

Stefan shook his head. Brian really was a spoiled little brat sometimes…

~

It was 2:30 AM, and Brian couldn’t fall asleep. Stefan had gone home and he was lonely! Now it was hot and he was soaked in sweat. He needed a drink of water or _something_ …

“Ugh!” he groaned, and threw off the sheets. He plonked himself out of the bed and headed in the direction of the bathroom. He flipped on the lightswitch and then turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water over his face. Then he looked up into the mirror.

 _Wow, you look verrrry tired tonight, Brian,_ he told himself. _Now we’re going to go back to bed, and imagine…let’s see…we’re going to imagine I’m in the welcoming arms of…David Bowie—wait! David Bowie! I…that phone number!_ Brian raced out of the bathroom and down the hall to the little kitchen area, where David’s letter lay on the counter.

He picked it up, hands trembling. His sweaty fingers punched in the numbers on the pad, and he picked up the phone.

This time it rang once, twice and…

“Hello, may I ask who’s calling?” said the voice on the other end, which belonged, quite unmistakably, to none other than…

“David Bowie…” Brian breathed.

“Now that’s strange,” said David with a smile evident in his voice, “I thought I was David Bowie. And I’m certainly not the one calling.”

“You…I…I, er, got your, um…your letter…” Brian managed.

“My letter…” David replied, thoughtfully.

“I’m uh, I’mBrianMolko!” Brian took a deep breath. _All right Brian. Caaaalm down._

“Oh, from Placebo, right?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“I loved your demo! Any chance I could come see you play?”

“You, you want…to see us? I ah…I uh, I’m going to check the dates now…” Brian laughed nervously. He rummaged through the papers on the table until he found it. “Uh…the next one is on Saturday…er…I guess, then, it’s in…it’s in…how many days?”

“If you mean this Saturday, that’s four days. Where are you playing?”  
Brian, stammering, gave the address.

“I’ll see if I can make it! It’s not too bad a flight from New York to London.”

A pause, as Brian took in all this.

Then David continued, warmly, “By the way, there’s really no need to be nervous, Brian. I don’t bite—or at least I only do on request!”

A shiver went up and down Brian’s spine at the mental images David had called up with that remark.

“It’s ah, it’s kinda, kinda hard, you know?” Brian laughed loudly. “Erm, bad phrasing?”

David chuckled. “Depends on how you meant it.”

 _Hmm…_ “In the way that isn’t bad, I guess.”

“Well then. Anyway, Brian, I look forward to coming to see you. I think you’ll be excellent!”

“Oh good, I can’t wait, I’m so excited!”

“Well, I suppose that’s goodbye then?”

Before Brian could stop himself, it was out: “Don’t go!”

“Oh, all right, we could talk a little longer if you’d like.”

Brian sat down in one of the chairs. “I…I don’t mean to keep you up…”

“Brian, it’s only eleven here. It’s really not a problem at all.”

“Ohhh, right! So, uh, well, I uh, I wanted to say…I’m such a huge fan of yours! I love your music! And I uh…you really inspired me. I mean, if it hadn’t been for, well, you and uh, well, everyone else…no! That’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Brian took a deep breath and ran over what he was about to say.

“David, if it weren’t for glam rock, especially you, I wouldn’t be making the music I am. The sexual revolution…the idea of androgyny as beauty…that was you right there, up at the front of it.” Another deep breath, and then he was at peace.

“Thank you very much, Brian. It always amazes me to hear that…to hear how I made an impact on someone’s life. It’s really just a beautiful thing. It’s something that I think you’ll experience someday too!”

“Ah, thank you…thank you so much…thank you…”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I…I really think I need to get some sleep!”

David laughed softy. “Sweet dreams, Brian.”

“Goodnight!”

~

5:15. The numbers on the alarm clock glowed bright red through the fuzzy darkness when Brian opened his eyes. Only one thought came to his mind: _David Bowie. Phone._

He dialed the number again, yawning and falling back down onto his bed as it rang once, then twice, then three times… Then it was picked up.

“Hello?” David’s voice was very tired, but, oh god, it was David!

“I....it’s me.” Brian breathed.

“Brian? I thought you were going to sleep!”

“I…woke up.”

“And you called me again.”

“Yeeaahhh…David. I…I need…you…”

“Hmm?”

Brian yawned and closed his eyes, picturing David in front of him. Somehow the David in his mental image managed not to have a shirt on—nice.

“Touch me…” Brian said to the shirtless David that stood in front of him. He didn’t remember whether he was real or imaginary anymore, and real was the better of the two options.

“Brian, love, I think you need to go back to bed,” said David.

“Come with me.”

“Brian…”

“Yes, oh, say my name again…”

“Brian, I think you may end up embarrassing yourself if you let this go on.”

“I don’t _care_ …just…speak to me…”

“Look, I hardly know you.”

“That never mattered to anyone else!” Brian sighed. Silly David, sitting there all shirtless and provocative and yet telling him they hardly knew each other. What a tease! Brian slipped off his pants and stroked his own thigh. “Come on…”

“Brian.”

But Brian didn’t hear whatever else he said, as he was busy caressing himself with his fingers, in his half-awake state believing that David would be watching eagerly. And soon they became David’s fingers, and now he was breathing David’s name, over and over, into the receiver.

~

“Brian…lord, stop, Brian.”

“David, oh god, I’m almost there…!”

David let out a long breath.

And Brian kept at it, saying “David, David, David,” over and over, and David’s pleas to stop became more and more breathy and husky with each time. Finally Brian cried out David’s name in a tone that David recognized as pure, no-holds-barred pleasure, and that, of course, is something no one can resist.  
David felt his pants tightening, but willed himself not to move his hands. _That can wait till I’m off the phone. Yes, I’ll definitely let it wait._

“Thank…you…David…”

“Good night, Brian.”

“Good…”

Silence.

David hung up the phone.  



	2. Chapter 2

David rifled through the mail thoughtlessly. It had been a long time since he’d gotten something really interesting. Even his fan mail, which he generally enjoyed reading, was now directed to his record company first, where they sifted out most of it and sent it back with a lovely little card that said “David is too busy to reply to your mail…”

Suddenly something caught his eye. It was one of those yellow envelopes, and from the way it felt when he gently squeezed it, he could tell there was a small rectangular object wrapped in bubble wrap inside. As he turned it over to pull the metal tab open, he checked the return address.

“Elevator Music…” he read aloud, thoughtfully. _This must be someone’s demo tape or something._

He tipped the now open envelope over into his hand. A little tape fell out, with the word “PLACEBO” scrawled in black permanent marker on the label.

Stepping into his living room, David put the tape into his cassette player and sat down, resting his chin on his hand. He didn’t expect the next Beatles, but at this time, anything new would be a comfort. He pressed “play”.

A quick guitar came in, and soon it was joined by words spoken with a voice that almost reminded him of his own, but higher and more nasal.

“Let me tell you a story about this ambidextrous talk show host that I used to live with…” said the voice in its arrogant tone. David could almost picture some little London punk singing with his nose turned up; strumming his guitar and spitting the words into the microphone. It was interesting…but it wasn’t new. Music like this wasn’t really going to get the band anywhere further than dark basement shows played for about forty or fifty people.

He pressed eject and took out the cassette, turning it over to see the track listing. And one of the titles stood out, caught his eye. “Nancy Boy”, it said. _Well, that could either be a very insulting song, a very self-deprecating song or…_ Was it too much to hope for? Too much to hope that perhaps this was a song like those he’d written in a time that, somewhere in the private back of his mind, was really the most amazing and productive period of his life?

 _You’re just kidding yourself, David._ But nonetheless he put the tape back in, and fast-forwarded, counting the number of songs he skipped through until he was at “Nancy Boy”.

Raw chords thrashed out on a guitar with the distortion turned up so high that what chords they were was hard to tell, sometimes not pressed in hard enough on the strings so that a high pitched squeal came out instead of the notes. Then the same chord was aggressively strummed over and over, soon partnered with a bassline and drum beat. A very simple song, but, who knew—often it was these simple recipes that would catch on the best.

The nasal voice of the band’s singer brought in a tune this time: “Alcoholic kind of mood, lose my clothes, lose my lube. Cruising for a piece of fun, looking out for number one.”

David laughed out loud. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard anyone discuss their exploits so freely in a song since…well, since _that time_.

“Different partner every night. So narcotic, out of sight. What a gas—what a beautiful ass!”

“I think,” he said to no one in particular, “It’s time to make some calls and write some letters.”

The tape player replied, “And it all breaks down at the role reversal, got the muse in my head, she’s universal, spinning me round, she’s coming over me…”

And David _knew_ that he hadn’t been wrong about Placebo.

~

Stefan had been sitting on the couch minding his own business when suddenly a certain Brian Molko leapt into his lap, pushing him against the back of the couch and smothering his mouth with kiss after passionate kiss.

Panting, Brian drew back for just enough time for Stefan to get in a “Whoa, whoa,” but then started in again, draping his arms over Stefan’s shoulders. Stefan gave in—you’d have to be an idiot not to, he thought—and let Brian’s soft warm lips envelop his.

Pretty soon Brian’s hands were slipping up under Stefan’s shirt to caress his tense flesh, sliding up further to knead his shoulders, making Stefan groan with pleasure as he felt the skinny but strong fingers pressing into him over and over. And still their tongues worked against each other, their hot breaths mixing and tasting divine.

Finally Brian buried his head in Stefan’s chest, and let Stefan wrap his arms around him, both of them breathing softly in perfect synchronicity.

“What are you so excited about, nancy boy?” Stefan said softly and gently into Brian’s hair.

Brian lifted his head, smiling serenely. Then his eyes lit up and he jumped up off of the couch, dragging a startled Stefan with him and spinning himself around like a dancer on Stefan’s arm.

“Steffie, Steffie! Guess what we got in the maaaiil!” Brian said in a singsong voice.

“Porn?” Stefan asked, just to humor him.

“Better than porn!”

 _How is anything **better?**_ “Give me a hint.”

“It’s a letterrrrr…”

“From?”

Brian paused for a moment, giving Stefan that famous “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” look. Then he grinned and threw his arms around Stefan, squeezing him more tightly than Stefan thought possible.

“DAVID _BOWIE_ , Stefan! David Bowie sent _us_ a letter!” Before Stefan could respond, Brian pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and began to read.

“ ‘Dear Brian Molko,’—actually it says ‘Mol _o_ ko’, but we’ll ignore that, no? ‘Dear Brian Molko, I was told that I could contact you at this address. I have been sent your demo tape, and though at first I didn’t think it was anything special, I heard the song “Nancy Boy” and—I couldn’t help but listen to it over and over again.’ Oh Stefan, he loves it! He _loves_ it!”

He continued to read. “ ‘However, I was unable to get information as to when and where I might be able to see you perform.’ Stef, he wants to see us! And—and he said ‘perform’, and—that’s an innuendo! Stefaaannn, David Bowie wants me!”

“Brian, don’t read too much into this, for your own sake, please…”

“Oh honestly, Stef dear, let a fanboy have his moments. ‘I would love to get in contact with your band. Please write back or, even better, call me.’ Look, it’s his _number_! And, oh Stefan, he signed it, ‘Yours truly, David Bowie.’ This is like…a dream come true! Oh, I just can’t believe it! Oh Stefan, he wants us to call him!”

“Calm down, Brian! But…” Stefan allowed himself to be a little excited too. “Brian, let’s call the number, now!”

Brian scrambled over to the phone and punched in the numbers at lightning speed.

“Hello?!” he shouted into the receiver.

“Brian, you might want to try letting it ring first…”

Brian was silent, his expression growing more and more disappointed with, Stefan imagined, each ring on the other end. Then he slammed the phone back into the receiver, tossing his head back with fiery eyes.

“FUCK!” he shouted, and stomped down the hall to his room.

Stefan shook his head. Brian really was a spoiled little brat sometimes…

~

It was 2:30 AM, and Brian couldn’t fall asleep. Stefan had gone home and he was lonely! Now it was hot and he was soaked in sweat. He needed a drink of water or _something_ …

“Ugh!” he groaned, and threw off the sheets. He plonked himself out of the bed and headed in the direction of the bathroom. He flipped on the lightswitch and then turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water over his face. Then he looked up into the mirror.

 _Wow, you look verrrry tired tonight, Brian,_ he told himself. _Now we’re going to go back to bed, and imagine…let’s see…we’re going to imagine I’m in the welcoming arms of…David Bowie—wait! David Bowie! I…that phone number!_ Brian raced out of the bathroom and down the hall to the little kitchen area, where David’s letter lay on the counter.

He picked it up, hands trembling. His sweaty fingers punched in the numbers on the pad, and he picked up the phone.

This time it rang once, twice and…

“Hello, may I ask who’s calling?” said the voice on the other end, which belonged, quite unmistakably, to none other than…

“David Bowie…” Brian breathed.

“Now that’s strange,” said David with a smile evident in his voice, “I thought I was David Bowie. And I’m certainly not the one calling.”

“You…I…I, er, got your, um…your letter…” Brian managed.

“My letter…” David replied, thoughtfully.

“I’m uh, I’mBrianMolko!” Brian took a deep breath. _All right Brian. Caaaalm down._

“Oh, from Placebo, right?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“I loved your demo! Any chance I could come see you play?”

“You, you want…to see us? I ah…I uh, I’m going to check the dates now…” Brian laughed nervously. He rummaged through the papers on the table until he found it. “Uh…the next one is on Saturday…er…I guess, then, it’s in…it’s in…how many days?”

“If you mean this Saturday, that’s four days. Where are you playing?”  
Brian, stammering, gave the address.

“I’ll see if I can make it! It’s not too bad a flight from New York to London.”

A pause, as Brian took in all this.

Then David continued, warmly, “By the way, there’s really no need to be nervous, Brian. I don’t bite—or at least I only do on request!”

A shiver went up and down Brian’s spine at the mental images David had called up with that remark.

“It’s ah, it’s kinda, kinda hard, you know?” Brian laughed loudly. “Erm, bad phrasing?”

David chuckled. “Depends on how you meant it.”

 _Hmm…_ “In the way that isn’t bad, I guess.”

“Well then. Anyway, Brian, I look forward to coming to see you. I think you’ll be excellent!”

“Oh good, I can’t wait, I’m so excited!”

“Well, I suppose that’s goodbye then?”

Before Brian could stop himself, it was out: “Don’t go!”

“Oh, all right, we could talk a little longer if you’d like.”

Brian sat down in one of the chairs. “I…I don’t mean to keep you up…”

“Brian, it’s only eleven here. It’s really not a problem at all.”

“Ohhh, right! So, uh, well, I uh, I wanted to say…I’m such a huge fan of yours! I love your music! And I uh…you really inspired me. I mean, if it hadn’t been for, well, you and uh, well, everyone else…no! That’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Brian took a deep breath and ran over what he was about to say.

“David, if it weren’t for glam rock, especially you, I wouldn’t be making the music I am. The sexual revolution…the idea of androgyny as beauty…that was you right there, up at the front of it.” Another deep breath, and then he was at peace.

“Thank you very much, Brian. It always amazes me to hear that…to hear how I made an impact on someone’s life. It’s really just a beautiful thing. It’s something that I think you’ll experience someday too!”

“Ah, thank you…thank you so much…thank you…”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I…I really think I need to get some sleep!”

David laughed softy. “Sweet dreams, Brian.”

“Goodnight!”

~

5:15. The numbers on the alarm clock glowed bright red through the fuzzy darkness when Brian opened his eyes. Only one thought came to his mind: _David Bowie. Phone._

He dialed the number again, yawning and falling back down onto his bed as it rang once, then twice, then three times… Then it was picked up.

“Hello?” David’s voice was very tired, but, oh god, it was David!

“I....it’s me.” Brian breathed.

“Brian? I thought you were going to sleep!”

“I…woke up.”

“And you called me again.”

“Yeeaahhh…David. I…I need…you…”

“Hmm?”

Brian yawned and closed his eyes, picturing David in front of him. Somehow the David in his mental image managed not to have a shirt on—nice.

“Touch me…” Brian said to the shirtless David that stood in front of him. He didn’t remember whether he was real or imaginary anymore, and real was the better of the two options.

“Brian, love, I think you need to go back to bed,” said David.

“Come with me.”

“Brian…”

“Yes, oh, say my name again…”

“Brian, I think you may end up embarrassing yourself if you let this go on.”

“I don’t _care_ …just…speak to me…”

“Look, I hardly know you.”

“That never mattered to anyone else!” Brian sighed. Silly David, sitting there all shirtless and provocative and yet telling him they hardly knew each other. What a tease! Brian slipped off his pants and stroked his own thigh. “Come on…”

“Brian.”

But Brian didn’t hear whatever else he said, as he was busy caressing himself with his fingers, in his half-awake state believing that David would be watching eagerly. And soon they became David’s fingers, and now he was breathing David’s name, over and over, into the receiver.

~

“Brian…lord, stop, Brian.”

“David, oh god, I’m almost there…!”

David let out a long breath.

And Brian kept at it, saying “David, David, David,” over and over, and David’s pleas to stop became more and more breathy and husky with each time. Finally Brian cried out David’s name in a tone that David recognized as pure, no-holds-barred pleasure, and that, of course, is something no one can resist.  
David felt his pants tightening, but willed himself not to move his hands. _That can wait till I’m off the phone. Yes, I’ll definitely let it wait._

“Thank…you…David…”

“Good night, Brian.”

“Good…”

Silence.

David hung up the phone.  



	3. Moonage Daydream part 3 of 3!

_I’m Brian Molko and I get what I want._ What he wanted was now clearly in target; David Bowie reclined on the couch reading a _Kerrang!_ Magazine that Steve or someone had left on the table next to the couch. Brian softly stepped over to the couch, and then sat himself down next to David.

David turned around, putting down the magazine and smiling softly. He shifted a bit, sitting straight up, and as he did his thigh brushed against Brian’s for an infinitesimal amount of time. The contact was still enough to get Brian’s adrenaline rushing.

“So, I’ll talk with the rest of your band when they’re around,” David began, “But I’ll just give you a sneak preview now. Basically, what I’d like to ask you to do—as your music is wonderful—is to perform—”

Brian giggled, then covered up the immature gesture by saying, “Oh, thank you, I’m flattered!”

“And rightfully so. Anyhow, as I was saying, I’ve been thinking…since I’m about to go on tour for my new album…”

Brian suddenly forgot his mission and allowed for one little outburst: “Yes! _Outside!_ I loved it…I’ve been planning to go and see you! When are you going to be coming ‘round this way?”

“Oh Brian, sweetheart. If you’d waited just one moment more!” David grinned, and then, eyes twinkling, made his announcement. “You’re going to be coming round with me. I’d like you to open up for me.”

“You’d like me…to _open up…for you_.” Brian returned David’s grin. “That, that is something I can always do.” He winked, hoping beyond hope that David had not only noticed the connotations of those words, but intended them himself.

“You can always open up, hmm. My, my, how naughty!”

_Score one for Brian Molko!_

“But certainly, David, I’m sure Stefan and Robert would join me in being more than overjoyed! So…” Brian cocked his head to the side, idly twirling his still-damp hair around one finger. “For now, we can just hang around until they get back.”

“You sure you don’t want to go out and meet the crowd, Brian? You seemed to have many devotees…”

“Aaaah…” Brian leaned his head all the way over, letting it rest on David’s leg. He ignored the fact that tremors and pulsations were flying through every inch of his body, and instead concentrated on David’s kind eyes, and his chiseled features; all the things that, in themselves, were beautiful, but all together spelled divinity. His very idol, here, reclining on the old beat-up couch, and Brian’s head in his lap. So close to…

Oh, there was no more denying it. So close to the source of all the love Brian could possibly want to be given tonight. So close to the other most beautiful part of David’s body, the one he’d spent nights worshiping—but that was worship of idols, of “graven images” as the Bible put it, because no matter whether human or plastic or completely imaginary, whatever he worshiped was not attached to David Bowie. Not before now. Brian flicked his tongue upward, in almost reflex.

“No one will be there,” Brian said casually.

David shook his head back and forth, as if trying to clear his mind. “No one will be…what?”

“If you were to go and open that door over there, no one would be there.”

“Even after you so temptingly hinted that you would be waiting?”

This was it. The moment where Brian had to either make a joke, or pour out his soul. And because he wanted now only to be as close to David as possible, he went for the latter.

“No one cares, David. They come, they listen to the music, and they go. They aren’t my devotees, as you put it—they aren’t even my _friends_! And I think…I don’t know…I think they’re _scared_ or something. They say to themselves, it’s going to be someone else who talks to the band and gets an autograph; someone else who tries their luck on a shag backstage—someone else who takes that step up to the door and says hello. But…there never is a someone else.”

“Brian.” David said loudly, firmly. “Brian, for someone so perceptive…you are being _very, very blind_.”

Brian felt everything and nothing all at once, as he realised what David was saying. His mouth dropped open, but not a word came out.

“Brian. You have an admirer, you have a supporter, and—I hope I can say—you have a friend.”

Still no words. In his brain, about a thousand messages were being sent to different parts of his body; _get up and move, no, stay where you are, no, move, no, stay! Touch him, speak to him, no, no, no, keep your mouth shut and stop making a fool of yourself; Brian Molko, get a GRIP!_

“And Brian…”

~

This moment could be lost in time forever if David didn’t take the chance now. The signs were clear. The evidence was all there. He could no longer deny it.

“And Brian…you have someone who, despite only having known you for a very short time, and despite a rocky start, wants to be here with you more than any place else. Sit up.”

~

Brian, still completely dazed, only vaguely noticed that David’s arms were reaching under Brian’s own to lift him up and place him sitting upright on David’s lap. But oh God did he notice it when David’s fingers began slipping down toward Brian’s waist, and then hooking underneath the skirt to pull it down, slip it past Brian’s keens and let it fall to the floor. And he _definitely_ noticed David’s sharp intake of breath upon seeing Brian’s black lace panties. And more than just his brain noticed, for sure noticed, when those long, strong fingers found their way _under_ them and pulled downward again. Brian let forth a soft, pleasured groan as the calloused fingertips danced down his legs and then back up his thighs.

“Love me,” Brian whispered, head falling back against David’s shoulder. As he did, Brian found his own hands clenching the material of David’s slacks, knuckles white. “I always, I always wanted it, I needed it, I need it, to be you.”

“Shhh…shh baby shhh,” was David’s only response.

“And you.” Brian began to grin. “You want it…to be me!”

David raised an eyebrow. Brian sent back an almost wicked smile, and his hands, still gripping David’s slacks, began to slip down.

“All these years.” Brian stood up. “All these years I’ve practically worshiped you…and now I’m going to do it properly.” No more were Brian’s nerves going haywire. Suddenly he realised he was in control. He pulled David’s trousers to the floor (underwear and all), swallowed, and looked.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Hmm?”

“You…oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

David chuckled, and shook his head. “I thought of all people, _you_ wouldn’t be surprised!”

“I want to taste _every inch_ of that, oh god. I want to worship you, I want to _get down on my knees_ and worship you.”

David stared straight into Brian’s eyes, his gaze lowering as Brian lowered his head, finally placing his hands on David’s thighs. Brian’s cold fingers caused David’s skin to stiffen at the touch, and so he delightedly traced circles on the soft, pale skin. Finally, he drew in a deep breath, and gently licked at the very tip of David’s cock.

David moaned just the slightest bit, a barely audible sound, but still a beautiful, musical sound, a sound that sent Brian’s blood rushing, sent a sensation like static electricity running through the core of every atom in his body.

Gasping, Brian drew the whole of David’s length into his mouth, feeling it like velvet against his tongue, gently sucking, ever so softly licking, senses heightened; taking in this memory to last him every lonely night in the world.  
“Oh, Brian…” David groaned. Brian turned his eyes up to meet David’s, watching his every move, filling with delight when David’s head tilted back and his eyes rolled to the ceiling in throes of ecstasy. It prompted Brian to suck harder, and shift his head back and forth ever so slightly.

“Oh…oh…I’m…”

It was torture on Brian, but he somehow found the will to pull back, just then. He wanted to make this last.

Slowly, Brian brought his gaze up, once again, to catch David’s eyes. He feared the worst—David would be enraged, David would be shocked, David would be disappointed. But no, David’s eyes gleamed with delight. Apparently, he knew this maneuver.

“I want you…” Brian said, catching his breath… “I want you inside me.”

“I know,” David responded, “I know and I will.”

~

This was David’s every fantasy personified, his every dream come true. Spread out, naked, beneath him was the most perfectly beautiful creature that ever existed, cheeks flushed from performing unimaginably wonderful acts _on David_ , eyes wide with apprehension. Brian reached up a lanky arm and pointed one finger straight at the table beside the couch, where David had picked up the magazine earlier.

“See the drawer?” Brian asked.

“Yes.” David stepped over and opened it, finding inside a capo, picks, and—there it was—a tube of lube. It had been so long since he’d done this…but somehow it felt so right, going through the motions once again.

“Beautiful, beautiful creature…” David whispered, looking into Brian’s aquamarine eyes, diving into the crystal ocean that they held. Gently, softly, he lowered his body onto Brian’s, feeling the nuclear explosions the touch of flesh to velvet flesh caused. Lightly, lovingly, he slid one slick finger into Brian’s opening, then a second. Brian moaned beneath him, and through him David could feel Brian’s heart beating fast. He placed the other hand right above Brian’s heart, feeling it beat as though it was David’s own. David drew in a deep breath and slowly slid in the second finger, then pulled both out.

“Ohhhh, David, ohhh!”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Oh god, no, never.”

“Are you ready?”

It was as if all that remained in the room, nay, the world, was their two heartbeats, pulsing as one, so strong as to drown out any other sound. Brian’s skin, so smooth, subtly rising and falling as it pressed against David’s. Brian’s scent, makeup, cigarettes, sweat, herbal shampoo, a hint of incense, and then something that was all his own.

“I’m ready.”

And with one quick thrust of his hips, David was inside of Brian Molko.

~

There was a whirl of stars, a second Big Bang, an atom bomb going off and the clock striking midnight at New Year’s, all at once, inside Brian’s head and behind his eyes. His head tilted back, pleasure coursing through his every bone. He’d lost control of his nerves, it seemed; all he could do was moan and breathe “David, David, David,” over and over until it was the only thing he knew. All he could feel was David’s constant thrusting in and out of him, still tasting David in his mouth.

Sweat was pouring off of his body now; every moment his chest heaved. One of his hands was firmly locked with one of David’s, and the other was lost somewhere beneath him. _David’s_ other hand was roaming everywhere on Brian’s body, fingers pinching at Brian’s hard nipples and sliding softly over his harder erection.

From Brian’s groin all through his body burst arousal like a searing, white-hot flame. Three words: “I’m almost there...”

And suddenly, David struck _that spot_ and time stopped.

~

Two voices, as one, screamed out each other’s names, as their owners collapsed into each other, _dissolved_ into each other.  
And together, perfectly intertwined, let out one final moan of absolute pleasure.

~

Sunlight shifted onto a pair of eyes that blinked open, and then squeezed shut, pushing the gentle yet searing light away from the womb-like darkness that it attempted to penetrate. The head the eyes belonged to swam with incoherent thoughts, words forgotten—often forever—after one hears human speech for the first time and tries to imitate its sounds. Finally, the thoughts formed English words, and finally the words formed disjointed sentences:

_Last night, I had a dream that David my lover my love was with me around me in me part of me loving me all over me._

_That dream,_ a deep voice, resounding within him and throughout him, responded, _was true. Open your eyes._

He opened his eyes. Lips were pressed against his neck, and strong arms were wrapped around his bare chest. Hair fell onto his shoulder, and from underneath it blinked a pair of eyes, one focused right into his own eyes and the other with a dilated pupil that focused somewhere inside him.

“Unnhhh,” he managed.

“Good…good morning love,” a gentle voice responded, as the lips at his neck lifted, and then a soft warm tongue drew a path up it and then sought out his lips, which opened to receive it. The two bodies lay there, locked in the kiss, for what could have been minutes and could have been hours (could have been forever).

_I’m not dreaming. I’m not dreaming. **I’m not dreaming. You’re real.**_

A few more moments passed in silence when they drew away, each of them glancing once again upon the world that seemed to start anew with this morning. Their love had been a torrential, healing rain to wash away all memories of the pain in life, leaving them like innocent, wide eyed children to the world. Tentatively, each let their eyes lead all around the room, finally coming to rest upon each other’s.

“Brian.”

“David.”

A smile started to play on Brian’s lips, and suddenly, he burst out laughing, burying his head in David’s chest and feeling David’s own laughter underneath.

“Oh my God, David, man, fuck, I…we…” He couldn’t finish, as he burst out in another stream of giggles.

“Brian love, let’s get up...” David started giggling too, and the two of them pressed each other to themselves, laughing and smiling, without a care in the world.

David hooked his pointer finger underneath Brian’s chin and drew his head upward, and Brian puckered his lips outward and gave a little air-kiss just millimeters away from David’s grinning mouth.

“I love youuuu,” Brian said.

“I love _you_ ,” David responded.

“I love _you, more_!” they both said at once, and once again fell back, laughing until they gasped for breath.

~

  


  
**David Bowie concert, two weeks later**   


A strobe light flickered, making time slow down as a deft hand struck a chord that rang out over thousands of hands and heads that strained to reach their idol.

A second someone stepped out on the stage to join the first, slim figure outlined with the white light, revealing a guitar’s neck, a short skirt, and a coifed bob haircut.

The two guitars struck the chord in unison, and the lights swirled down to focus on the two musicians, David Bowie and Brian Molko.

“ _My friends say it’s fine, friends say it’s good, everybody says it’s just like Robin Hood!_ ”

Brian bobbed his head up and down, dipping one shoulder down so that the strap of his slinky black silk dress slid down his upper arm. Smiling and winking lasciviously at David, he slid his hand up and down the sweaty neck of his guitar, and then blew a kiss to the audience.

“ _I move like a rat, talk like a cat, sting like a bee, babe, I wanna be your man!_ ”

David hopped over close to Brian and leaned in toward Brian’s microphone, pressing his arm into Brian’s, pantomime-licking at Brian’s face.

“ _And it’s plain to see you were meant for me…and I’m your boy, your twentieth century toy!_ ”

~

The lights went down, and Brian raced to David and was wrapped in his arms; held tight.

“You were amazing,” David whispered into his ear. “They all love you.”

“You,” Brian whispered back, “Make my life beautiful.”

“ _You_ ,” David returned, “Are just too damn cute.”

They kissed.


End file.
